Sarsaparilla and The Starfish
by Ghostcat3000
Summary: While helping Jess hang botanical prints in her room, Nick finds something from her romantic past. Sexy times ensue. Two chapters. I do not own these characters. Rated M. Special thanks to kyrafic for being a magnificent beta. Please review!
1. Sarsaparilla

"Thank you for doing this."

"No problem, Jess."

Jess watches Nick draw a line on the wall with a golf pencil from his special Poker Night box. There were some strange things in there. Jess didn't need to see 'em.

"I can hang my own frames, but I have trouble with alignment. Usually, I just say that the mismatched angles are an aesthetic choice. Shabby chic. Holla!"

He glances over at her, and watches her simultaneously rub her arms like she's cold and scratch her calf with her foot, all bare skin and constant fidgeting. She's wearing a black skirt that's the size of a postage stamp and an old timey sailor looking top. He thinks he may have told her he liked it once. She's been wearing it a lot lately and yeah, he needs to stop looking at her or else her frickin' pictures are going to stay on the floor, which is where she'll be too in a minute and didn't they just fuck this morning? She's going to think he's some kind of sex maniac. Which he totally is. Cool it Miller, cool it. You are NOT a sex maniac. He sighs loudly and gives himself a little shake. Stamps. He needs to buy some soon. Preferably before the price goes up another three cents. What made him think of that? Her skirt, you weirdo. It's _small_.

"Sorry…about that," she murmurs.

His eyes snap back to hers.

"I'm trying to tone down the holla." She raises her arms weakly, mouths a silent woot woot and then shakes her head no at herself. Fuck, she's cute. He adjusts his pants and assumes a businesslike drawl.

"It's really no problem. You know I like doin' stuff for you." He notices something new in her expression then, like she's trying not to laugh. "What?" he says, raising his eyebrows.

"Not gonna lie..." she whispers theatrically behind her hand, "but this is kinda getting me all hot and bothered."

Nick looks at her and feels a tiny half smile bloom on his face. She steps back and looks him up and down.

"Oh yeah? Is it my manly physique?"

"Definitely."

"Really?" He leans on the wall and resists the urge to flex.

"No."

She attempts a poker face but it dissolves into laughter. He frowns at her and returns to the task at hand, squatting down to rummage through his toolbox for a hammer. She bites her lip.

"It's your forearms. They're so... hairy."

He turns and raises an eyebrow. "Okay. Thanks?"

He finds the hammer and stands up, his knees clicking as he does so. He stretches slightly, to ease the tension. That's him. Old man Miller.

"If I made you a friendship bracelet, would you wear it?" she blurts out.

"That depends, Jess... are we at summer camp? Will we braid each other's hair by the fire?"

"I just really like your wrists."

"Oh these? The ones at the end of my hairy arms?" He reaches out, opening and closing his hand. "Beer."

She hands him a Heisler and he makes sure to keep eye contact as he drinks. It's second nature by now. He rubs the still cool bottle on his jaw and hands it back to her.

"Both. I like them both." Her eyes are bush baby big.

"Well, aren't I a lucky boy?"

She absentmindedly sips from his bottle, then makes a face when she realizes what she's doing. He chuckles.

"Nail."

She hands him a nail and watches him swiftly hammer it into the wall. He picks up the print, hangs it, then spends a few moments straightening the frame. He turns to Jess with a questioning grunt and catches her in mid-blush/squirm. He can't help the slow smile taking over his face. He thought she was trying to mess with him but it looks like it's the other way around. How about that?

"You're serious, aren't you? This is really doin' it for you."

"Your _face_ is serious," she protests, too much.

He nods and fishes out a level from his back pocket. Okay, he's got her number but he's not going to call it. Let her stew a bit. He steps sideways to find the right spot for the second print. He studies the picture for a moment and struggles to read the cursive at the bottom.

"Smilax Regelii." she says.

She points to the print. He rolls his eyes and nods to himself. Of course she would know what it was. She's such a nut. She probably knew when she bought it at whatever little flea market she went to. That's where he drew the line. No fucking flea markets. Ever.

"Sarsaparilla."

"What?"

"Smilax Regelii is Sarsaparilla. In case you were wondering."

She points to the print again.

"Sarsaparilla is what they use to make root beer. I used to have a pretty serious root beer habit when I was a kid. It was out of control."

"Okay, right on." He smiled to himself. He'd have to remember that.

He turns back to the wall, level in hand, takes the pencil from behind his ear and makes a new mark.

"I can't believe you use tools to hang pictures Nick. So fancy! I'm really impressed."

"Well... my Uncle Pat used to say real men don't need shortcuts but I like to drink while I work so there's that." He snorts suddenly and holds up the level. "Did you know that there's an app for this? Schmidt showed me. That guy is such an idiot."

He moves to her dresser and motions to it. "I'm gonna slide this over for a second." He pushes it to the side and spies something dark falling behind it, "Wait, there's something…."

He kneels down to have a closer look, reaching out to pick it up.

"What on earth is this? Why do you have a bunch of sewn together black rubber bands? Were you making a slingshot or something?"

He stretches the mystery item with his fingers and pretends to shoot it at her. Jess turns crimson and covers her face with her hands.

"Oh my god. It's lingerie."

He leans in his head involuntarily.

"What?"

His eyes go to the item in his hand.

"It's lingerie, it's called the Starfish. I bought it back when I was seeing Genz, so you know how _that_ turned out. I didn't know what I was doing. Ugh. Just put it in the top drawer. Or here, give it to me."

Nick frowns his level 10 frown, his brows knit together and his mouth set. He looks up at her, or rather looks her up and down and speaks, his voice sounding tight in his throat.

"Put it on."


	2. The Starfish

"What?"

"Jessica. Put it on."

His arm stretches out in front of him, the black bits of string look even smaller crumpled up in his hand. Then softer, "Put it on please."

"Like..._now_?"

He nods. She takes it from his hand.

"Okay, turn around."

He doesn't turn around, just clenches and unclenches his right hand, intense expression still in place. The room is eerily quiet. Jess swallows nervously, steps out of her skirt and unbuttons her blouse, slipping it over her shoulders. It's all super awkward and weird because she's not thinking straight, so she doesn't put the Starfish down, can't think to, doesn't know how, so she passes it from one hand to the other. Nick isn't helping with all the staring. No siree. Not at all. Once her blouse and skirt are off, she starts to pull the starfish over her head, bra and panties still in place. Nick lifts a hand, his palm facing her. Stop. That's what she thinks he's saying. So she stops breathing or forgets to. He puts his hand down.

"Come 'ere."

She steps over to him. She is almost hyperventilating from a combination of fear (_what is he making me do?_) and excitement (_what is he going to do?!_). He puts a hand on her hip to steady her and uses the other to deftly undo her bra and slip the straps off of her shoulders. Her nipples harden. He looks down on them, licks his bottom lip and swipes a calloused thumb over her nipple, his eyes never leaving her face. She shivers.

"Oh."

He leans over, closes his eyes and kisses her collarbone, following the path to her shoulder.

"Now..." he murmurs right into her skin, raising gooseflesh. "Take off your underwear."

This feels wilder than it should. It's 5:00 p.m. and they were hanging botanical prints barely a minute ago. Bickering about what koalas eat half an hour ago. Shopping for frames an hour before that. Now she's standing before him, completely naked and it's still light out. People are out there, on the streets, doing their errands and parking their cars. She should be like one of them, going about her business, not stepping out of her panties like Gypsy Rose Lee.

He looks at her, taking her in, and unexpectedly he smiles. Boyishly, as if he just received the greatest Christmas present. Then he sits back in the edge of the bed and closes his eyes.

That just about does it. She struggles with the Starfish for a bit, comically, mostly out of impatience (she wants him _so bad_). So she wiggles and sweats and then it's on her and yeah, worn like this, it just enhances her nudity. She was naked but now she's naked with a stretchy black border. She fights the urge to put on a robe but the feeling doesn't last long, that was the old her, this is the new her. The one that gets it on the regular, real good, from her hot, hot, hot roommate who can fix stuff. She straightens her shoulders, takes a big breath, looks at Nick's fingers, spread wide and resting on his knees. Her voice is unrecognizable even to her, scratchy and lower than usual, when she says, "You can look now."

He opens his eyes and his face. His face. Oooooh. She could kiss that face. He runs through several little micro expressions, from surprised to thrilled to tickled to determined. Watching him, she turns liquid, a surge of wetness between her legs. He reaches out to her and pulls her closer.

"You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen."

She turns slightly to the side and curtsies cutely.

"Thank you," she says in a small, breathy voice.

She thanks him because the way he says it, with awe and tenderness, she knows it's true.

He pulls her onto his lap and kisses her. Sweetly at first, then harder and deeper. His hands are all over her and the friction between those little bits of string and her skin makes her feel feverish and loose-limbed. He takes his tongue and licks a stripe next to the strap that cuts across vertically in front of her breast, his thumb idly stroking the exposed area next to her belly button. In response, she slides her fingers in his hair and grabs him, pulling him to her roughly, her kiss catching his groan. Her lips move from his mouth, to his stubbly cheek and then his temple, gasping out loud when his fingers find her wetness. She buries her face in his neck, her breath stuttering out his name. Then she sniffs.

"Nick," she says again, more evenly.

"Mmmm?"

"Have you been using my shampoo?"

"Yeah." His eyes are closed. He pulls his fingers away and tries to kiss away her responding hiss. He picks her up suddenly so that she's sitting higher, on her knees, balancing on his thighs. "Smells like you."

It is precarious and hot how he holds her firmly in place, his upper arms always more _muscular_ than she expects. He ducks way down, angling to kiss her hip bone. And it would be funny. Kissed thigh. If she didn't find. Kissed hip. His straining. Kissed belly. And wiggling. Kissed breast. Sexy.

They stop and look at one another. His hair is all wet and his eyes look heavy, like he's fighting sleep or drugs but no, it's her, isn't it? She's the cause. She sits back down on him, rubs herself on him and is rewarded with a loud groan, so loud it makes her tremble. He puts his forearm behind her neck, moves her mouth to his mouth and works her with his fingers at the same time. It's languid, unfocused and very, very wet. Their bodies move together in a slow, roiling motion. Nick doesn't like to dance though he does, with her, and she wonders why. He is a great dancer, when they're in her room, like this. A great dancer.

"Don't stop what you're doing please. Please."

"I won't."

"Good."

"You smell greeeeeeat."

"Thanks…wait. Stop. Stop."

He does, looking flushed and confused.

"But..."

"Shhhh."

She pushes him back on the bed. His hands automatically go to unbutton his pants.

"Don't. Move back further." She scoots up and straddles him. "Let me."

She starts unbuttoning his shirt. He moves to slip it off his shoulder but she stops his hands, catching him by those wrists.

"Leave it on."

She undoes the buttons on his jeans and slips a hand in. He stutters out a long "Fuuuuuuuuuck" when he feels her fingers make contact with his cock. She gently frees his erection from his pants, and brings her hand up and down the head of his penis, her neatly trimmed and manicured nails painted dark red.

He groans.

"Sweetheart. This is not gonna last very long. I think we better jump..."

She lowers herself on him suddenly, slickly. He grunts sharply and grabs a couple of the flimsy straps on her hips, using them like bridles.

She stops moving and stares at him. He moves his mouth silently, in what could be breathlessness or something he's trying to say. Finally, he manages a choked, "You're killing me."

In response, she lifts herself slowly, swirls her hips, then stops again. She repeats the sequence, enjoying the view of Nick's eyes slowly rolling in the back of his head.

She leans over until her breasts are in his face and whispers, "Are you dead yet?" He responds by lifting his hips up suddenly, jolting a gasp out of her. He grabs her hands and stares at her hard.

"Please," he says. "Please." They kiss softly for a moment and then she sits back up, begins riding him in earnest, without stopping, keeping a fast, steady rhythm. Nick tugs and grabs at all the lingerie straps, squeezing the flesh within the lines, her breasts, her backside and it's like his hands are enormous because she can feel them _everywhere_.

He intensifies the pace by moving as well, and twirls one of the straps around his index finger, pulling it forcibly and rubbing it against her clit. He bites his lower lip and looks at her as he does it and it proves too much. She makes a garbled noise and comes, shuddering through her orgasm, slowing down the pace to match the sensation as it fans out. "Ohfuuuuckjessicajessicajessica," he whispers harshly, eyes closing, following her into the white, his thrusts uneven, until he too slows down and stops.

Breath steadying, she slumps forward, sliding her hands under his shirt, her body slick with sweat. He takes one of her hands and kisses it, then her wrist. They look at one another, then nod, as she gingerly lifts herself off of him, falling limply at his side. He sits up and looks for tissues, his breath uneven.

"Sorry. That happened... quickly." He cleans himself up a bit, and tosses the garbage into the flowery vintage trash can next to the desk.

"No complaints here," she says, lifting her hand.

"I can't believe I'm still wearing pants. And... a shirt. I feel so manhandled."

She laughs and he smiles in response. He hands her the box of kleenex.

She watches him stand there, staring at nothing in particular, his face exquisitely blank and wonders what he's thinking right now. Probably turkey subs or buying socks or both. Her grumpy mystery, so simple and so puzzling. He scrunches up his face and looks at her.

"I feel like I should take my clothes off or something. So confused right now." He clears his throat. "Are you okay? Do you need water or anything?"

"I'm good. You may have to cut me out of this before dinner though. "

He takes her comforter, folds it over her gently and lays down on the bed, inching over so that his side is pressed up against her. He nudges her with his nose until she sits up a little so he can put his arm around her. He does it every night they've been together. It's things like this that get to her. The moments of unexpected tenderness. He rubs lazy circles on her shoulder with his index finger for a bit then starts laughing again, happy and loose, eyes squinting.

Jess smiles up at him, puzzled.

"Hey," she whispers. "What's so funny?"

He looks at her and looks away, embarrassed but giddy. "You know those sex movies from the 90s?"

"Sure. Like..." She lifts her head to look at him and whispers huskily, "Basic Instinct?"

"Heh. Yeah. Or the one with the Linda Whatsherface with the smoky voice and the eyes, banging some townie in a car and screwing everyone over."

"Don't know that one."

"Good stuff. I used to watch movies like that late at night in our den. My uncle had hooked us up with stolen cable that summer and it was the greatest thing ever. Jamie wanted to move his room downstairs. I thought that was what sex had to be like. I didn't think I'd ever get there."

"Well... you have some skills in the sack, boy."

"No. Not really."

"Oh, I beg to differ."

He shrugs.

"I'm okay. I don't know. It's you. It's us." He touches the inside of her arm, exposed in the late evening sun. The pads of his fingers gentle over the skin. "I'm not thinking much. I just want... to please you and fuck you and..." He rubs his eyes suddenly, reflexively. "Sorry... I'm not good at saying stuff."

"Hey. Don't be sorry. I like it when you talk to me. And when you touch me. And when you—" she lowers her voice to a whisper "—fuck me. And when you're ready, I'd like to do it again."

He looks at her seriously.

"Jess, that may be ten minutes from now."

She shoots her eyes up at the ceiling, and lets out a screech. Then she smiles widely at him, biting her tongue between her teeth.

"Nick Miller. You are a unicorn."

He furrows his brow and smiles.

"Because I hung your prints?"

"Yeah, sure. That could be our new code phrase. For sexy times."

"I like that."

"Hey Nick, can you come help me hang my prints?"

She winks and does exaggerated air quotes with her fingers.

"Nope. No air quotes, Jess."

"Okay."

She sighs. He kisses the top of her head and they look at the lone print hanging on the wall. Jess speaks first.

"It's a little crooked."

"Yeeeah. I'll fix that."

"Not yet, stay here a bit."

"Oh, I'm not moving."

This time they both laugh.


End file.
